The Hands of the Divine were dead.  HoD had been created for the sole purpose to bring good people together to protect each other from the depredations of killers present in the world.  It was an amazing guild where the creators personally selected every member.   They adventured the length and breadth of Britannia bringing good to the world and destroying evil wherever it took root.  Their purple capes were seen the world over from dungeons and monster-filled caves to massive battlefields to quiet gatherings around a mug or ten of ale.  They had helped establish the first true guild-run township and then moved on to establish their own village as well.  They fostered trade with many different people and were respected far and wide as craftsmen as well as explorers.  It was a happy time.  But it was short lived.

Constant pressure from a rival guild had brought strain to the guild members.  They were divided in their ways of how to deal with them.  In the past they had always followed their guildmaster’s lead.  Trusting him to bring order from the chaos.  He had always felt he had done so.  However, MP had grown weary of this world.  His cohabiters had been falling into a well of bickering and deceit that had already nearly cost his guild their very lives.  Betrayal had destroyed the gains they had made in the world and it seemed never ending.  MP decided to pass the reigns of leadership to his princess and his love.  She was young in the ways of leadership but was a cofounder of HoD and he felt she could grow quickly into her new responsibilities.  He was tired.  He felt old and weary and yearned for a change.  He was confident in his guild member’s abilities to support their new guildmistress.   He was very, very wrong.

He had not been gone a day when the rumblings started.  Josie had just announced her taking over the guild and was asking for opinions of guild changes.  The details are pathetic and pointless, but in the end the majority of the members had decided they wanted to vote for a new leader.  Josie was distraught.  She and MP had created the guild from nothing.  They had poured in over half a million gold into its start, spent weeks working on the guild specifics, and had helped approach and recruit every member from day one.  And now they wanted to usurp her.  Frantically she contacted Masterpoet for his view.  “If they want a new leader, they will have to find a new guild.” He said.  “We put our own blood and tears into this and it is only we who will lead it.  If they want to remove you from the position, then the guild we created is truly dead.”

With a heavy heart and an angry glare, Masterpoet and Josie immediately recalled to the HoD village.  With a final look of sorrow and a curse on his lips for the usurpers they slowly dismantled half a dozen buildings owned by the guild.  As the furnishings and deeds entered his bank box he silently removed the guild stone: the guild stone that was to last for a thousand years had not lasted more than ten.  Tears threatened his vision and with and angry cry he ripped the stone from its foundation and chiseled off each name but his and Josie’s.  It was over.  Josie was crying and MP felt empty.  The dream had died.  For Masterpoet, there was nothing remaining in this world to hold him.  For months Masterpoet explored the darkest and wildest parts of Britannia searching for a gateway to another world.   Through lost legends and dusty tomes he pieced together the puzzles and riddles of millennia in his single-minded search for another place.  Panultima Endeffect was dead to him… as dead as his guild.  He would remain there no longer.  Finally, after nearly a year of searching, Masterpoet found hints of a forgotten gateway.  A gateway never used from this plane.  Summoning Josie and steeling his nerves he prepared for a final journey.

To HoD